


Where It Starts

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Birth By Sleep era, Gen, Hollow Bastion | Radiant Garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Kairi and her grandmother spend an afternoon telling stories, making dandelion chains, and trying to figure out where the sky begins and ends.
Relationships: Kairi & Kairi's Grandmother (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Where It Starts

In summertime, flowers adorned Radiant Garden, from the central castle to the fields on the outskirts of town. The plants were sparse out there, unlike the pampered petals that spilled over the polished stone and wrought iron edges of the royal gardens. But there was delight to be found in the mismatched wildflowers, dotting the green grass all the way to the horizon. To Kairi’s young eyes, there was delight to be found in just about everything.

She swung her arms with each step, swinging her grandmother’s arm along too as they walked down the road together, hand in hand. Kairi tended to look up while she walked, rather than ahead at where she was going. Her parents often chided her for it, but her grandmother never said a word. She simply kept her hand—doughy on the surface, but sturdy underneath, hardened in the kiln of life—clasped with Kairi’s—soft all the way through, like clay still waiting to be shaped.

Kairi had been enamored with the gardens from a young age; the adults joked that she must have sprung from them like a flower herself. They bestowed on her soft, pretty nicknames—lily, petunia, buttercup. Her grandmother chose hardier ones—tiger lily, sunflower, even lotus. The latter had started as a way to encourage Kairi to settle down for her afternoon naps, which she had been deeply and vocally opposed to. She was a child who knew exactly what she did and did not want, and sleeping while the sun was up was most certainly _not_ something she wanted.

But her grandmother taught her about lotuses, special flowers that could sleep for a century and still wake up as bright and strong as before. And if they could bury themselves in the mud for years on end, then surely Kairi could handle curling up under some nice, soft blankets for an hour or so. Soon, what began as a simple tongue-in-cheek routine (“Time for bed, little lotus!” her grandmother would call sweetly) evolved into a genuine nickname, and the one Kairi preferred.

It was no surprise that she latched onto that moniker—Kairi had always had a penchant for toughness, sometimes overlooked in favor of her kindness and her keen ability to know when to be well-mannered. But she was just as likely to stroll through the gardens “properly,” with even steps and her hands laced behind her back, as she was to run through them, swinging from low branches and turning over stones just to see what she could find beneath them.

One day, she ran to her grandmother with dirt under her fingernails and a glistening little salamander cupped in her palms, red and shining like an unearthed jewel. She presented it proudly, and although her grandmother applauded her fearlessness, she advised her to leave the creature where it was next time. At Kairi’s puzzled frown, she explained that while Kairi might not have meant it any harm, the poor thing didn’t know that—she was so much bigger and stronger than it was, after all.

Kairi went from holding the salamander like a prize to holding it like a candle, drawing it to her chest as if anything might suddenly snuff it out. She lived in a world that was too big for her at every turn, a world that required boosts, and stepping stools, and someone taller to pass her cookies from the cupboard (as long as she promised not to tell her parents). Now, for the first time, _she_ was the bigger one, holding the salamander’s body and its fate in her dirt-covered hands.

Immediately, she led her grandmother into the garden to find the salamander’s rock. Her grandmother stooped to lift the stone up, just a bit, and Kairi delivered the salamander back home with a sincere apology for disturbing it. They watched it wriggle under the soil, and then Kairi’s grandmother carefully laid the rock down again, demonstrating that even something as heavy and unyielding as a stone could be made gentle.

From then on, whenever they went “dragon hunting,” it was only to find them, never to take or to keep them. Kairi’s grandmother said that while it was fine to have adventures, not everyone wanted to take part in them. Each plant and animal had a home—even if it was just the underside of a rock—and they didn’t want to be away from it for too long. Kairi, sharp as ever, asked, “What about animals that migrate, like birds and butterflies?”

“ _Especially_ animals that migrate,” her grandmother replied. “They want to go home so badly, they’re born knowing the way back to it.”

Kairi took this advice to heart. As much as she adored the pretty songbirds and iconic flowers of Radiant Garden, so too did she love the city’s less favored residents, from salamanders to beetles to flowers that were commonly considered weeds. The palace gardeners tried to eradicate them before they bloomed, but Kairi was as enchanted with them as she was with any flower, all the way through their life cycle: the green stalks with promising buds, the sunburst of yellow, and the final ghostly gray. She ran through patches of them once they turned soft, until their heads were bare and the rest of them went away on the wind.

It had taken her by surprise the first time. She’d been expecting them to drift down to the ground, like all the other flower petals. But they floated away from her, up into the sky, and she watched them go, amazed and bittersweet and incredibly proud. “They can _fly_ ,” she had said.

“So can you,” her grandmother had replied, hoisting Kairi up beneath her arms and guiding her through the air with ease. Kairi had giggled at her own ticklishness, but she held her arms out as her grandmother carried her forward, swaying her from side to side in a simulation of flight. Kairi tried to grab a few spores that were still ruled by gravity more than wind. She snatched them out of the air, but—like the salamanders—she only wanted to hold them for a moment, not keep them. She blew them off her palm like a kiss, whistling through the gap where her first baby tooth had fallen out, and away they went again, ascending with her help, transformed by her breath from a dead seed to a feather in the sky.

Today, the dandelions were in full bloom. Kairi and her grandmother sat among them, splitting their stems and turning them into jewelry that would last no longer than the afternoon. Like most children her age, Kairi tended to pull a little too hard, and tie her knots a little too tight, resulting in uneven gaps between the flower blossoms on her chain. Her grandmother approved wholeheartedly. It was a testament to Kairi’s desire to not only explore the world, but also leave her mark on it.

Once her grandmother had woven a nice, sturdy ring of dandelions, she added a decorative ridge to the front, turning it into a crown. She placed it on Kairi’s head and dusted her hands on her skirt, while Kairi gazed at the horizon, deep in thought.

“Where do dandelions go when they fly away?” she finally asked. Her grandmother shrugged.

“Up into the sky, for a while. But then they come down again, to make more dandelions.”

“Oh.” Kairi frowned. “I thought they lived in the sky forever.”

“No, dear. Flowers need to plant themselves in the soil so they can grow. And there aren’t any gardens in the sky, are there?”

“Hmm…maybe on top of the clouds. Or in the stars.” Kairi’s eyes lit up. “Maybe _stars_ are flowers.”

Her grandmother chuckled. “Stars aren’t flowers, Kairi. They’re worlds.”

Kairi looked up, squinting as if she could see the stars that lay beyond the sunny sky. “They don’t _look_ like worlds.”

“Well, not from here. But from far away, our world looks like a star, too.”

Kairi’s face pinched as she studied the sky, silently interrogating it. “…so…do other stars have their own skies? Like ours?” Her grandmother nodded. “Then where does our sky stop? And where do their skies start?”

“I don’t know,” her grandmother said easily. “I’ve never gone up there to find out.”

Kairi went quiet. She was a firecracker of a girl, but she had her moments of introspection, diving into the oceanic depths of her mind that only she could explore. Finally, she raised her arm and pointed straight up. “That’s _our_ sky.” When her grandmother nodded again, Kairi pointed harder in the same direction and said, quite sensibly, “And past that is the _big_ sky—the one we all share.”

Her grandmother shook her head with a smile. “Well, that sounds about right to me.” She let Kairi sit with her thoughts for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet. But when she noticed Kairi fiddling with her dandelion chain, she said, “Are you going to give me that necklace, or do I have to take my crown back?”

Kairi looked down at the thin loop of flowers in her hands, then back up at her grandmother. “You can have it.” Her grandmother held her hand out. “ _If_ you tell me the story.”

Her grandmother dropped her hand again, sighing. As much as she loved to indulge Kairi’s every whim, she had already told that story four times this week. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you tell _me_ a story for a change?”

Kairi hedged for a moment. She was usually too stubborn to bargain with, often refusing to compromise on sheer principle. But she brimmed with creativity, and she couldn’t resist the bait of her own imagination. Soon, she was sharing a story with all the trappings of a classic tale: a castle, a gaggle of monsters, and a pair of mysterious travelers. The first one had been _very_ strange—according to Kairi, he managed to fly with the aid of a shattered star. She had a visible epiphany mid-story, her eyes shining as she realized that he had probably done what no mere person or flower ever could: soaring beyond the sky, maybe even to another world.

After him, there had been a princess. “But not _just_ a princess,” Kairi corrected herself, rising to her feet. “A magician. A princess magician! And she had a sword! She had blue hair, and a big blue sword, and she fought all the monsters at the castle gate. I gave her some of my flowers, and she gave me some of her magic. She made _me_ magic!”

Kairi found a stick, waving it heroically and cleaving a path into her own fantasy world. As she battled invisible monsters, her grandmother couldn’t help wondering how much of this story could really be chalked up to Kairi’s imagination. She vaguely remembered the so-called “princess magician,” though Kairi’s description of her sword sounded more like another weapon, something arcane and legendary, and not seen or heard of for a long, long time. And then there was the magic spell, planted in Kairi’s heart and blooming slowly, not spontaneous and fleeting like the seasonal blossoms, but taking its time like a tree, rooted in the earth and reaching toward the sky.

Away, in the distant center of town, something in the castle creaked and groaned. A swinging pendulum, maybe, or a shifting gear, or a tolling bell. Kairi was oblivious to it, but her grandmother felt the sound in her bones, a reminder of her ever-stiffening joints and the ever-lasting progression of time.

Neither she nor Kairi knew it yet, on this warm and easy summer day, but soon they would be swept away from this world, and from each other. Kairi, like a tiny creature stolen from its garden, would finish growing up far from home. It would be ten years before she’d see this sky again, and when that time came, she would see it through another’s eyes—another’s heart. This world would be almost unrecognizable then, a seed sunken in the mud, waiting for its chance to bloom once more. Hanging in suspended animation, neither a living world nor a sleeping one. It will barely be able to remember itself.

But it will remember Kairi.

Her grandmother turned away from the castle, shaking off the quiet, intuitive chill. She looked at her granddaughter, who had vanquished all her imaginary foes and was offering the necklace again, out of impatience more than generosity. “ _Now_ will you tell me the story?”

Her grandmother took the flimsy necklace and put it over her head, then sat Kairi on her lap, ruffling her red hair and shaking a few petals loose from her crown. They buoyed themselves on a passing breeze, trusting it to carry them wherever they needed to go.

Kairi watched them take flight, as enchanted as ever. Kairi, who was both tough and gentle, brave and kind, confident and inquisitive. Who loved to climb rocks and trees, to plant flowers and overturn stones. Who navigated the world with fire in her voice and light in her heart. Who protected things that were smaller than she was, and who drew protectors to her in return. A girl who looked up at the sky and saw what lay beyond the blue, who saw more than what was shown to her own two eyes.

“Grandma?” Kairi said, prodding her arm. “The story?”

Her grandmother reached up and tilted the crown askew, just the way Kairi liked it. “Oh, my little lotus,” she said, her voice and her smile sun-warmed and full of love. “You _are_ the story.”

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally written for Step Forward, a Kairi fanzine. If you missed out on the first round of pre-orders, they'll be opening again soon (July 5th), and more information can be found on twitter and tumblr under the "kairizine" handle.


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